Sleepwalking
by Na-ma-go away
Summary: Franklin has Michael hanging from the tower, and Michael thinks he's done for. But someone miraculously saves him. Alternate way for ending B! Rated for language and possibly other adult themes in the future. Michael/Trevor in future chapters
1. Chapter 1

My first ever fic and a GTA one at that! I absolutely loved this game, it is definitely my favorite. It's called Sleepwalking after the song that plays after Michael dies in the original way of ending B. I hope you like it! :)

* * *

Michael had never thought it would come to this.

Franklin's hand clutched his own, and he held tightly. The blood pounded in Michael's ears and any shout or scream was lost in his throat, aside from a few grunts. His heart punched against his chest and he flailed, trying to pull himself up and also not letting his sweaty hand slip out of Franklin's.

"You fuck." He hissed, looking up at Franklin. He didn't know what he saw in Franklin's face. He looked exceptionally blank, except for the sweat on his face; It was probably from holding Michael up.

Betrayel flooded through Michael's body, and he glared up at his the boy he had taken under his wing. He had let Franklin go when he stole his son's car. He had taught Franklin _everything_ he knew. He had gotten Franklin more money than he would ever be able to get by gangbanging with Lamar. Without Michael, all Franklin would be was a car stealing gangster.

A certain name flashed through his mind- Judas. It was what Trevor would've called Franklin, if Trevor were here. For once, Michael almost wished he were.

"I'm sorry, but this is the only way." Franklin said, a slight pleading in his voice, as if he wanted Michael to _understand, _the insensitive fuck.

Michael wanted to scream at him like he had on his way up, but his voice was trapped somewhere in his throat. All he could do was hiss out a few insults at him. The betrayal sliced through him, as if Franklin was personally carving FUCK YOU into Michael's back with a rusty knife.

"I'm sorry." Franklin said again, this time quieter. Something in his expression changed, but he looked away a bit. He grunted as he started pulling Michael back up.

Anger rushed through Michael, white hot anger. This asshole; this _fuck_ was going to pull him up to do...what? Apologize and hope they would be okay? Kill him in a more personal and up close way? Frustration added to the hot and violent anger he was feeling. He wouldn't let Franklin decide how he was going to die. He was Michael _fucking _Townley, the man who had lived despite getting shot; the man who had been struggling through life for ten long fucking years. He wouldn't let this kid-whom he had stupidly shown everything and became close to-kill him. Only Michael would decide how to die.

As he got closer, he pulled his head back, ready to hit Franklin's head with his own. Yes, it would send him plunging to his death, but he'd have at least decided that he would go, instead of the asshole who was dangling him over the edge.

Just before he threw his head forward, a loud bang sounded out. A bit of blood spurted onto Michael, and Franklin screamed. He stumbled back, and Michael held onto his arm, as Franklin held onto his bleeding leg with his free hand.

Michael was able to pull himself up and over the railing once Franklin had done most of the work. He landed on his back, gasping for breath and holding on tightly to the railing. His heart hammered in his chest, painfully trying to beat out. Michael looked up at Franklin.

Franklin was backed up, his back pressed to the tower. He clutched his leg, swearing a bit as blood dripped from the wound. Michael's eyes widened as he realized that the wound had been caused by a bullet.

He didn't stop to think about who had shot Franklin. Instead, he jumped to his feet, stumbling a bit. He almost felt ready to throw up over the side, but held it together. He stumbled up to Franklin and pulled his foot back. With all his might, he kicked the bullet wound.

Franklin howled in pain, squeezing his eyes shut tight. "Ah, fuck!"

"You motherfucker!" Michael yelled at him, kicking again. "You fuck! Think you can kill me? Huh?"

Franklin was trying his hardest to back away from Michael, gritting his teeth. Michael could see him fumbling, trying to find something to defend himself with, while at the same time, attempting to stop the bleeding.

"I was pullin' you up!" Franklin coughed out, jerking his leg away and narrowly avoiding a kick from Michael.

Michael leaned down and grabbed Franklin's shirt in his hand, pulling him close. Michael glared, almost snarling.

"But you still tried to clap me, didn't you? After everything I did for you!"

Franklin tried to pull away, struggling weakly. "I-"

"Shut the fuck up." Michael shook Franklin, hitting his head against the tower.

Franklin's eyes fluttered and he was going a bit pale. Bleeding out, Michael thought. He wasn't sure whether to be surprised or not when a grin crept across his face.

"How does it feel to be the one about to die? I've been on that side of the stick for too long, Franklin, and you aren't going to put me there again."

"Please, Michael-"

"Fuck you, Franklin!" Michael slammed him back against the tower and Franklin yelped, coughing out a bit of blood. "I should've killed you when you stole my son's car." With another hard slam for good measure, Michael let go of Franklin and stood up. Adrenaline still pumped through his body and he wasted no time going down the ladder and getting away from the tower.

When he was at the bottom, the adrenaline started fading and was replaced by something else- curiosity. He wanted to know who had shot Franklin.

His answer came in the form of his name.

"Mikey!"

Michael's eyes widened slightly, and he turned to face the familiar voice. He thought dimly that he should've known. Who else could it had been, really?

Standing on top of his truck, still holding the sniper rifle, Trevor Phillips grinned at him.


	2. Chapter 2

Back on the tower, Franklin was hissing his breath through his teeth and fumbling in his pants, trying to reach his phone. A small pool of blood had formed around him- how could his leg bleed so fucking much? And he had to admit, he was starting to panic.

He hadn't intended for it to go this way. The plan had been simple: kill Michael. It had been so simple- Michael had practically ran to his death. But then the adrenaline and the feeling that this was something Franklin _had_ to do, vanished.

He had remembered the phone call Michael had had with his wife. The happiness in his voice; the happiness in his face. All the _fucking_ happiness radiating from him. It had all decided to come into his mind at the point where he was about to drop Michael. Then he had lifted him up. Franklin hadn't seen who had shot him, but it didn't take a genius to guess who it had been.

Franklin just wanted to know why he had been allowed to live. Or, at least just be on the verge of death.

He finally managed to pull his phone out, a "Fuck" hissing out between his teeth. He quickly dialed, holding the device to his ear.

"Sup, my nigga?" Lamar answered cheerfully.

"Hey Lamar, I got shot up here!" Franklin groaned into the phone, letting his head fall back on the tower behind him.

"Oh shit! Whatcha been doing?"

"I was trying to kill Michael, for Devin Weston, man. I know that we ain't cool, but he said he'd kill me if I didn't do it."

"So, you betrayin' your homies again, nig?"

"Man, fuckin' help me! I'm bleeding out here!"

"Oh, shit, shit! Okay, I'm comin'. Where are you?"

Franklin quickly barked in his location, and Lamar hung up.

Franklin sighed and leaned back, keeping his eyes open to see if someone was going to come finish the job before Lamar showed up.

His leg was killing him, his head and heart pounding. He could feel blood seeping into his clothes and gritted his teeth. He wasn't unfamiliar with the sticky feeling of blood, but it wasn't something he enjoyed.

He stayed awake until he saw the headlights of Lamar's car coming, and one quick thought flashed into his mind before he allowed himself to close his eyes.

He still had to kill Michael.

* * *

Super short chapter sorry! I wanted to do a quick thing with Franklin

Favorite or review if you liked! :D


	3. Chapter 3

Quick shout out to movieholic for being my first reviewer! :) Thanks!

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"What the fuck," Michael snapped at Trevor, leaning forward a bit, "are you doing here?"

"Saving your ass, you fuck." Trevor snapped back, holding the sniper tighter in his hands. His eyes narrowed the way they did when Michael was pissing him off.

"I didn't fucking need your help."

"Apparently you did! Franklin was going to let you drop! You could be a little grateful!" Trevor hopped down from his truck, stalking over to Michael and standing a foot away from him.

Michael didn't say it, but he _was_ feeling a bit thankful. After all, he had thought he was going to die. If it hadn't been for Trevor, Michael would've been lying in a bloody heap on the pavement. He sure as hell wasn't going to admit it to fucking Trevor, though.

"How the fuck did you even find me?" Michael demanded, avoiding voicing his thoughts.

Trevor balanced his sniper in one arm so he could reach into his pocket and pull out his phone. "Trackify, amigo."

"Amigo?" Michael narrowed his eyes. "So we're friends?"

"I didn't say that." Trevor snapped. "And I still haven't heard a fucking thank you, _Mikey_."

"You're not going to fucking get one."

"You're such an asshole!" Trevor suddenly yelled, going forward until he was in Michael's face. "I save your miserable fucking life, and I don't even get a fucking thank you? I don't know about you, but I see a problem there."

"I could've handled the situation!"

"_No you couldn't!_ You were going to fucking die, Michael! You were going to actually die this time, and I saved your ungrateful ass! For godsake, you cunt, _say thank you!_"

Michael opened his mouth to scream something back when headlights caught his eye. The car was speeding towards him, and he wasn't sure if he recognized the driver. It was dark, and the headlights were bright.

"The fuck-"

Trevor whirled around and stared for a second, before grabbing Michael's wrist. Michael wondered if he dug his nails in on purpose or accidentally as he yanked him away.

"Who was that?" Michael shouted as he was dragged to Trevor's truck.

"Lamar!" Trevor yanked open the passenger door and nearly flung Michael into it. Michael's face nearly collided with the steering wheel before he caught himself, yanking himself up.

Lamar spun up, jumping out of his car. He didn't so much as glance at Trevor and Michael before sprinting up to where Franklin was.

"Should we get him?" Michael asked as Trevor got into the vehicle.

Trevor shook his head. "We're going. Hopefully Franklin is either dead or won't make it on the way to the hospital."

Trevor turned the ignition on, and the truck gave a low rev. Michael dimly compared it to the soft hum of his car.

He slumped back into the seat, shoulders falling, and heaving out a huge sigh. He let his body relax back into the seat, letting the full reality of what had happened wash over him. He shuddered lightly.

_Franklin had tried to kill him._

Franklin, the boy that had practically been his son. Trustworthy, helpful and eager Franklin had tried to throw him off the side of a tower to fall to his death. Michael could still barely wrap his head around it. He had trusted Franklin more than anybody, and the kid had tried to kill him. His hands clenched into fists.

And Trevor, of all people, had saved him. Michael had assumed that Trevor was still pissed off; he thought that Trevor would've been _glad_ that Michael was actually dead. Instead, Trevor had saved his ass again, and Michael had no clue why.

Michael glanced over at Trevor, who seemed to refuse to look back. Trevor's hands clutched the steering wheel, his knuckles white with some veins obvious, his eyes were narrowed slightly. The sniper rifle lay in the bed of the truck.

Michael hadn't been paying attention to where they were going, but when he noticed they were on the freeway, he raised his eyebrows.

"Where are we going?" He asked, pulling himself up into a straighter sitting position than before.

"Sandy Shores."

"What? Why? I want to go back home."

Trevor rolled his eyes. "If Franklin is still alive, where do you think he's going to look next?"

"I'd rather go home than go back to your stupid trailer." Michael held his hands out a bit, thinking of what to do to make Trevor take him home.

He had almost died. He wanted to go home and see his family. He wanted to see Tracey and congratulate her on getting accepted into college; maybe watch a movie with his family.

"You don't have too much of a choice at the moment, Mikey." Trevor said as he pulled onto the highway.

"Take me home, Trevor!" Michael exclaimed, reaching forward to try and grab the wheel.

Trevor made an odd noise, like an angry animal, as the truck swerved, almost hitting another car. Trevor elbowed Michael hard as the other driver flashed them the bird.

"Sit the fuck back and chill out!" Trevor practically yelled, turning slightly to glare at Michael.

Michael clutched his side, hissing a bit in pain. Trevor had hit a sore spot, no doubt where Franklin had also hit. The more he thought about it, the more his body ached. He was too old to be fighting with someone way younger than him. The comforting thought was that Franklin had gotten off worse.

"I want to go home!" Michael snapped, glaring at Trevor.

"Remember when I kidnapped Patricia and we had to lay low?" Trevor demanded, glancing at Michael with the corner of his eyes. When Michael didn't reply, Trevor bared his teeth.

"Do you?" He demanded again, glaring. Michael sighed and nodded. "That's what we're doing now."

"Fuck you, Trevor." Michael snapped, his hands turning to fists. "I don't understand why you care."

"Just shut the fuck up." Trevor growled, elbowing Michael again. Michael leaned over a bit, breath hissing between his teeth.

"You can phone your family when we get to my place." Trevor said, not taking his eyes off of the speeding road. "Then, we get rid of our phones. Franklin probably knows how to use Trackify."

"Then what?" Michael demanded, glaring. "Then we just get cozy at the shit hole you call a house, act like we're pals and have a grand fucking time? Is that the plan, _T_?"

A slight grin spread over Trevor's face. "Yeah, pretty much, _M_."


	4. Chapter 4

Franklin had lived.

He'd let himself pass out once Lamar had managed to get him into his car, letting the exhaustion of blood loss come over him. The last thing he'd remembered was Lamar getting mad at him for getting blood on the seat.

He felt better as he walked out of the hospital. Lamar had managed to get him to there before he bled out completely, and the doctors had taken care of the rest. He now had bandages and stitches over the wound and it felt odd when he walked. He was practically limping, which made him think of a person who could possibly help him find Michael.

When he was resting in the hospital, Franklin had called Michael's house. He hadn't been surprised when Amanda answered, nor when he found out Michael hadn't returned home. He hadn't expected Michael to be in such an obvious place. Michael was smarter than that.

Pulling out his phone, Franklin scrolled through his contacts list until he found Lester's number.

"Lester, dog."

"Franklin?" Lester answered.

"Don't freak out, 'kay?"

"I'll try not to." His voice held a note of suspicion. "What is it?"

"I need your help, man." Franklin scratched the back of his neck as he walked away from the hospital, standing on the curb to look for a taxi.

"With?"

"Some guy wanted me to kill Michael, and some other guy wanted me to kill Trevor. And..." He paused for a second, biting his lip. "I chose Michael." He felt slightly ashamed of himself, but pushed the feeling away. He wouldn't let Michael get to him like he had the night before.

Lester didn't say anything for a long moment. Franklin listened, the only sound being Lester's quiet breathing.

Finally, Lester spoke. "To be honest, I don't think that was a very wise decision. What happened? Is Michael dead?"

"No, man. He got away."

"How?"

"Fucking Trevor." Franklin grumbled.

"Hmm. I've got to say, I'm a bit surprised. I thought they weren't getting along."

"That's why I thought killing Michael would be easy." Franklin sighed. "What should I do?"

"Have you tried using Trackify? It helped with finding Michael the last time."

Franklin had. He had tried before he came out of the hospital, but there had been no signal, which meant that Michael had either destroyed or turned off his phone. He'd also tried with Trevor's phone, but it had the same result.

"Yeah. There was nothin'."

"I don't think you should try to kill Michael."

"It's too late now. If I don't kill him, he's probably gonna kill me."

"Fine." Lester grumbled. "Go kill Michael then. If needed, kill Trevor."

"Fuck." Franklin groaned. "It probably will be needed."

"Is that all?"

"I need some help finding them."

Lester sighed into the phone. "Who wanted Michael and Trevor dead?"

"Devin Weston and those guys from the FIB, Steve Haines and Dave Norton."

"Contact them. Ask Devin for a crew of Merryweather; see if Steve and Dave can help you find Michael and Trevor."

"I guess if talking to those motherfuckers is the only way, I'll do it." Franklin sighed. A cab finally rolled around the corner, and he waved at it. It pulled up beside him. "Thanks, Lester."

Lester didn't bother with anything else and hung up. Franklin sighed and leaned back in the seat, ignoring the taxi driver as he asked where to go. Looking in his contacts for Devin Weston's number, he held up a hand to tell the taxi driver to wait. He'd know where to go soon enough.

* * *

Another short Franklin thing! (I actually meant to make this longer, but I seem to be unable to write long Franklin stuff.) So far it seems like this might go between Michael and Trevor to Franklin haha.

I took the advice I was given and got a beta, so I hope my writing is better! :) Her pen name is ThatOneFrenchGirl (despite her name, she does edit in english pretty well). I'd highly suggest getting her help! :)


	5. Chapter 5

The drive to Sandy Shores was filled with tense silence and angry glares passed between the two men in the truck. Trevor drove quickly, passing numerous cars along the highway and lights flashing by.

Michael spent the drive staring out of the passenger window, watching the dark scenery pass by in a blur of black and navy blue. His eyes were fluttering slightly, and withing minutes, he had allowed himself to drift off to sleep for the rest of the drive there. His body was too mentally and physically tired to stay awake.

Trevor had woken him up by poking him with the sniper when they arrived in front of Trevor's ratty trailer. It hadn't been a pleasing sight, but Michael had sighed and walked up with Trevor anyways, following on his heels.

Once inside the junk in which Trevor called home, Michael stood in the middle of the trailer, looking around. It hadn't been too long since he'd been there, but his tired mind caused him to stare as if it were new. He looked at dust and grime, along with some sort of slime-looking substance leaking from the ceiling where water had gotten in. Beer bottles and various drug things laid around, and there were dishes piled up in the sink.

Trevor had chucked the gun onto his sofa and sat down beside it. He glanced at Michael, then took out his phone. Without looking up from the device, Trevor held out his other palm towards his guest. "Hand it over, sugartits."

Michael's eyes narrowed, but he handed it over anyways. He was tired and didn't feel like getting in a fight with Trevor over the phone, nor the name. "What are you going to do with them?"

"Gonna give 'em to Ron. He can deactivate them for a while." Trevor stuck them into his pocket and stood up, stretching a bit. His shirt rose up slightly, showing scars on the bit of exposed skin.

Michael nodded and leaned against the wall next to the door, crossing his arms. "What phone can I use, then?"

Trevor frowned for a moment, then his expression hardened. "Can it wait 'till tomorrow?"

"No, it can't." Michael snapped. "I have to call my family, Trevor."

Trevor glared. "You can't use your phone _or_ mine right now. We can find a payphone or some other shit tomorrow."

"No! Goddamit, Trevor! I let you take me out here, the least you can do is let me phone my damn family!" He tried to sound angry, as if he would be ready to start throwing punches over it, but his voice came out slightly desperate. He _had_ to talk to his family. He had almost lost them; he had to hear their voices.

Trevor was across the room before Michael could glare and grabbed the front of Michael's shirt, finding himself only inches away from the man's face. Trevor's eyes were narrowed into angry slits, his mouth in a tight line. "Calm the fuck down." Trevor spoke through his teeth, the anger radiating off of him. "You can talk to them _tomorrow_. Right now you just need to stay off of Franklin's fucking radar!"

"They're going to be worried." Michael growled, forcing his voice to become stronger. There was no way he'd act weak around Trevor. "_Please._"

Trevor didn't say anything for a second, his eyes flickering from one of Michael's eyes to the other. Then, as if not even needing to make a decision, he shoved Michael into the back wall, hard. Michael's breath left his body, but moments later, lunged forward to hit Trevor, only to have Trevor shove him back again, slipping past him and out the door.

"Fuck, _fine_!" Trevor yelled. Michael watched as he ran and hopped the fence between his and Ron's trailers, kicking over a barrel along the way.

Michael leaned on his toes to follow, but then thought better of it and turned back into the trailer. Gritting his teeth, he practically stomped towards Trevor's fridge and yanked it open. Michael wouldn't describe the inside of Trevor's fridge as cold or clean, but satisfying, as it held beer, which was always good enough for Michael.

When Trevor came back fifteen minutes later, Michael was sitting on the couch, almost half of the beer bottle emptied. Michael looked up at Trevor, raising his eyebrows.

"Here you go, you selfish fucker." Trevor snapped as he chucked a phone at Michael. Michael didn't recognize it must've been Ron's phone, but a phone was a phone.

"Thanks, T." Michael said sincerely as he anxiously punched in the number for his house.

"Whatever." Trevor grumbled, going to his room and slamming the door.

The phone rang in Michael's ear, and Michael dimly wondered what time it was. His family would either be awake worrying, or asleep and oblivious.

Just when he was about to hang up, Michael's heart skipped a beat.

"Hello?"

Michael closed his eyes and let out a sigh of relief. He recognized the voice; it was like music to his almost dead ears. "Amanda, baby, it's me."

"Michael!" She almost yelled into the phone, relief obvious in her voice. There was a different emotion, though- anger. "Where are you?"

"I can't say." Michael said, trying to keep his tone light and calm for the sake of his wife. "But, hey, I'm alive!"

"Where are you?" She demanded again.

"I have to lay low. I can't tell you exactly what happened, but I'm alright and-"

"What do you mean?" Amanda cut him off. "I was so worried, and now you're telling me you aren't coming home?"

"I'm sorry, baby, but I can't." Michael sighed, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. He longed to go home to her, but he knew he couldn't, or else he'd die or he'd put them in danger. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm okay, but I won't be coming home any time soon."

"Why?" She pleaded.

"Something happened. I don't want you to worry, but I'm going to be okay. Where're the kids?"

Amanda didn't reply at first, but instead, sighed. A couple of moments later, she spoke up again. "Out with their friends. Tracey is celebrating getting into college."

The reminder made Michael's heart throb- he wanted so badly to find Tracey and to tell her how proud he was. She didn't even know that her father wouldn't be coming home, neither would Jimmy. He fiercely hoped that they wouldn't hate him.

"Are you fucking done yet?" Trevor suddenly yelled from his room, and Michael jumped a bit. He had been completely lost in the sound of his wife's voice that he'd almost forgotten about Trevor's presence. He wanted the phone back, probably.

"Tell her that I'm so proud." He said quietly, almost whispering it.

"I will, but Michael-"

"I love you, okay? I promise that I'll try to call everyday until things calm down and I can come home."

"Michael! Ron's gonna want his phone back anytime now!" Trevor yelled again.

"But-"

Michael winced slightly and held the phone tightly. "I have to go. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Michael-" He hung up before Amanda could say another word. He clutched the phone to his chest, closing his eyes and replayed the sound of Amanda's voice in his head. Yes, she had sounded pissed and worried, but he wouldn't take it for granted again. He had almost lost the sound forever.

He heard the sound of Trevor's door opening and opened his eyes. Within moments, Trevor stood in front of him, a hand held out for the phone.

"Couldn't give me five fucking minutes." Michael snapped, getting to his feet and shoving the phone into Trevor's hand.

"I could've not let you use the phone at all." Trevor growled at him as he spun on his heel and headed towards the door.

"Keep in mind that, while I'm here, I'm not your fucking prisoner!" Michael practically yelled, his hands balled into fists.

Trevor stopped in his tracks and turned back to Michael with a murderous expression. With his left hand clutching the phone, he swung towards Michael with his right hand.

His fist collided with Michael's jaw, and Michael went stumbling backwards and onto the couch. "What the fuck, T!?" He yelled, holding a hand to his jaw with the taste of blood in his mouth.

"While you're in _my_ fucking place, you'll do what _I_ fucking say!" Trevor stomped over, leaning over Michael with fists ready to punch.

"Fuck you!" Michael slammed his fist into Trevor's gut, and Trevor stumbled back.

"You prick." Trevor growled, doubled over. He slammed the phone down onto the counter and stomped back over to Michael. Moments later, the scene consisted of a series of punches, kicks, and some bites on Trevor's part. Michael fought back with every ounce of annoyance and anger he had in him.

By the time they had stopped, Trevor had Michael pinned to the floor, his hands holding Michael's wrists down. Michael tried to jerk his knee up, but Trevor avoided every single attempt.

"Fuck you!" Michael spat into Trevor's face, and Trevor growled, baring his dirty teeth.

"I _will_ fucking end you." Trevor hissed, his face less than an inch away from Michael's.

"No, you won't." Michael replied, his voice certain. "You didn't let Franklin kill me."

"Didn't I say that if anyone was going to kill you, it was going to be me?" Trevor's eyes were filled with murderous rage and they bore into Michael's. "I could rip your fucking throat out right now."

"Do it." Michael hissed. "I fucking dare you."

Trevor stared at Michael for a long time, and neither of them moved. Michael could feel Trevor's chest rise and fall with heavy breaths, and it was so quiet that Michael swore that his heavily beating heart was being heard by Trevor.

"Don't tempt me." Trevor finally said, and Michael's breath caught in his throat when Trevor leaned forward to bite Michael's neck.

His teeth sank in, not enough to cause too much damage, but enough to draw a bit of blood. And the fact that it didn't feel like pain, but something _else,_ terrified Michael. He laid frozen for a few seconds as Trevor's teeth dug in. Blood ran down his neck.

"_That_," Trevor hissed against Michael's neck, his breath blowing across Michael's skin. "was a fucking warning."

With that, Trevor shoved himself up and stepped over Michael. He grabbed the phone on the counter, gave Michael a glare and left the trailer without closing the door.

Michael picked himself off the floor, dusting his suit off. He groaned a bit as he stomped off towards the bathroom; he had probably contracted some disease- who knew where Trevor's mouth had been.

Inside the bathroom, he stared in the mirror, tilting his head back to look at the bite mark. "Fuck." He whispered as he traced a finger along the outside of it. His finger came back red, and Michael could perfectly see the imprint of Trevor's teeth. Sighing, he picked up a dirt towel and dabbed at the mark, hoping it wasn't permanent. The thought of him being overpowered by some hillbilly caused him to feel uneasy.

Moments later, though, Michael had regretted the thought. Trevor wasn't just _some hillbilly; _Trevor was his friend, no matter how much Michael hated to admit it.

* * *

Phew! That was a long chapter! Huuuuge thanks to my beta for helping me with this! I really hope everyone who read enjoyed :)


	6. Chapter 6

Michael tried as hard as possible not to have any conversation with Trevor whatsoever. The less they talked, the less bruises and cuts Michael would have in the morning.

Fortunately, he was succeeding. Michael watched Trevor's crappy TV whilst drinking a beer and Trevor never looked up from the TV (apparently Fame or Shame was suddenly interesting to the psychopath). The atmosphere was tense and strained, but they managed to make it through a night together.

Sleeping arrangements wouldn't have been too bad, if Trevor had actually gone to sleep. At some point in the night, Michael had made himself comfortable on the couch- as comfortable as he could get on the piece of junk Trevor called a couch- but attempting to sleep had been awkward. Trevor had been leaning against the counter next to his sink all night and, from what Michael could tell from the few times he managed to doze off, Trevor hadn't gone to sleep at all. Every time Michael closed his eyes, Trevor was there, and he was still there every time Michael opened his eyes. It was strange and uncomfortable, but Michael had been too tired to risk fighting with Trevor.

When the sun had finally come up over Sandy Shores, Michael sat up and stretched. He still felt a bit groggy, and his neck was sore from the awkward position he had slept in on the small couch, but he had still managed to sit up. Blinking his eyes, he looked around the trailer, only to find that for the first time all night, Trevor was gone. Michael took a moment to wonder where he was, but was instead greeted by the sudden crash of events from last night. All at once, the thoughts came crashing down on him, and Michael sighed. He sat back and rubbed the back of his neck, not knowing what else to do.

He recapped everything to his tired self. Franklin- who had basically been his son- had tried to kill him, and Trevor- who Michael had assumed hated him- had saved his ass, again. Michael wasn't sure why either of the men had done what they did, but what happened, happened.

Michael sure as hell wasn't going to tell Trevor how thankful he was- the fucker would probably never let it go, and Michael would be hearing it until the day one of them died, but it didn't stop Michael from feeling the way he did. He had been under the impression that Trevor despised him, and that Trevor and Franklin would've thrown a party once Michael died.

Michael wouldn't have blamed Trevor for being glad he was dead, for he knew he deserved as much for all the shitty things he'd done to Trevor. Self-loathing flared up inside of him; the never ending feeling of his hatred of himself making itself known. He almost wished Franklin had dropped him.

Franklin.

Michael closed his eyes tightly, gritting his teeth together. That asshole had tried to kill him, and Michael had never felt so betrayed, not even when he'd caught Amanda in bed with another man. At least Amanda hadn't hung him off of a tower and apologized as she loosened her grip.

Michael's hands clenched into fists. If Franklin insisted on trying to kill him, Michael would kill him first. Hell, if Michael didn't kill Franklin then Trevor probably would.

He wondered where Trevor even was. The one time Michael had fallen completely asleep, Trevor had vanished. Obviously he wouldn't have left a note, but a text message would've been nice, or even a phone call. Michael sighed and shook his head, clearing the stupid worry from his mind. Trevor would be able to handle himself.

Michael walked over to Trevor's small TV, flicking it on. Static emerged, and Michael searched until he found the remote wedged between a couch cushion. He scanned channel after channel, a frown forming on his face when he found out that there were no good movies on. He sighed and changed it to a music channel that played songs from his favorite station, the Los Santos Rock Radio. He nodded approvingly as the quiet sound of 'Radio Ga Ga' filled the small trailer.

No sooner had the chorus hit that the front door was thrown open and Trevor came running in, a shotgun clutched tightly in his hands Michael's eyes widened at the sight of blood on his white shirt, though he knew he had no reason to be surprised. When wasn't there blood on Trevor's clothes?

Blinking the sight away, Michael spoke: "Jesus, there you are. Where were-"

"Do you have a gun on you?" Trevor demanded, staring at Michael with wide eyes.

Michael tensed slightly, seeing how stiffly Trevor held the gun. Michael knew that someone was coming. He could think of quite a few people who would come after them, but…there was only one person who came to mind with this kind of situation.

"No, I dropped it off the tower."

Trevor groaned in frustration and reached into his back pocket, chucking a pistol at Michael. "Looks like that's what you'll be using, Mikey."

Michael weighed the gun in his hand before nodding, then placed the other hand on it and held the pistol up. He wasn't too thrilled about the weapon he would be using, but it was better than no gun at all. He'd used a pistol other times and it had gone perfectly fine (_not when you were up on that tower_, his mind stupidly reminded him). He only hoped that it would be the same this time.

"Who is it?" Michael asked as him and Trevor made their way towards the door, although he already had a pretty good idea as to who it was.

Trevor paused before opening the door, resting his shotgun on his hip. "Franklin, and a lot of fucking Merryweather."

* * *

I am so sorry for how long this took, and how short it is! I had a very busy Christmas week and couldn't find time to write. Thank you my dear beta for reminding me that I had to write this :) I'll try to have chapter seven up quicker than this one!


	7. Chapter 7

A WILD UPDATE APPEARED! Haha here's the update I promised for this week. My beta and I are currently working on chapters 8 and 9, so hopefully those will be up soon, too. Thank you for being so patient! You guys all rock :)

* * *

_"No way, Slick."_

The cab driver looked impatient, and Franklin had to keep holding up one finger, silently telling him that he'd only be a minute.

"Please, man." Franklin pleaded into the phone.

_"There's a reason I asked you to do it. I don't want to be involved."_

"Well, shit man, it's not gonna get done unless I get some help." Franklin lowered his voice a bit. "He's got Trevor helping him."

_"Phillips?"_ Devin hissed, muttering a few curses.

"Yeah. So just get a couple of guys to meet me outside of Sandy Shores, and we can get 'em both." Franklin was pretty sure he was right about Michael and Trevor laying low at Trevor's house. It was where they'd lied low the last time they'd been in trouble, and Franklin knew they wouldn't be in LS. It was too close to where Franklin was. He was almost positive they'd be in Sandy Shores.

_"Nuh-uh, Slick. You don't tell me what to do. Remember who's in charge here."_

"Fuck, man." Franklin groaned. "I'll just call the FIB."

There was a bit of silence on the other line, and Franklin waited. He wondered if his comment about the FIB would work to get Devin to agree with him. Hopefully it would inflame his ego. Devin would probably like to have a little something to do with the deaths of Trevor and Michael.

Franklin stayed silent, letting the bait dangle right in front of Devin's face.

A long sigh finally came from the phone.

_"Fine, Clinton. How many guys do you need?"_

* * *

Trevor had seen them.

Franklin and the Merryweather guys that Devin had sent were down a couple blocks from Trevor's trailer, sitting outside the Ammu Nation. The guys had come prepared with guns and ammo, but they wanted to make sure they were completely prepared. Franklin might've overdone explaining their situation, but, with Trevor and Michael, he couldn't be too sure. Hell, Trevor could pull out an RPG and they could be screwed.

They had just been about to move, getting out of the vans and trucks they'd driven when Trevor had come around the corner. He'd had his hands in his pockets, looking at the ground and frowning.

It was odd seeing Trevor looking so normal after everything that had happened, Franklin thought. Of course, he couldn't have been mistaken for a _normal person_-his shirt was stained, his hair was messy and everywhere, scars littered his body. Franklin could see a bit of old blood on him, but he looked pretty damn _calm_. Last time Franklin had seen Trevor hadn't even been too long ago.

But everything had changed. Trevor wasn't just a possible father figure or a friend, he was an _enemy._ Someone who had to be eliminated.

Franklin had looked up at the right time to meet Trevor's eyes. Trevor's face had instantly iced over, pure, white hot hatred burning in his eyes. His mouth set into a hard line, and his lips pulled back to make it look like he was growling. Then, he had turned and ran the other way.

Franklin yelled out, ripping a pistol out of his pocket. He aimed and shot, but it just skinned Trevor's shoulder, tearing a bit of his shirt- maybe caused a tiny bit of blood-and he ran around the corner.

"Shit!" Franklin cried, throwing his hands in the air.

"What?" One of the Merryweather men asked, turning to Franklin after he had pulled his gun out of the van.

"Trevor saw us." _Trevor saw me._ He tacked on as an afterthought. For all he knew, Trevor would've just run up and tried to kill the Merryweather, had he not seen Franklin.

"The psycho guy?" The man asked, not seeming too alarmed.

"Yeah! We have to go get 'im, now!"

"Why are you so panicky? It's just two guys. I don't even understand why all of us are here." The man shrugged and rolled his eyes a bit.

"Man, you haven't seen what these two can do." Franklin sighed and reached into the truck behind him to pull out a gun; an SMG. "We're going, _now._"

The man sighed and nodded, barking out an order to the men behind him. All of them nodded, and they went half sprinting half running down to Trevor's house.

Franklin proceeded cautiously when the trailer was in view, holding his finger on the trigger and ready to pounce or dodge at a moments notice. He knew to be careful. For all he knew, Trevor and Michael could be right behind them.

Suddenly, Trevor jumped out from the side of the RV, shooting one of the Merryweather. He gave a whoop, a grin stretching from one ear to the other. Yells sounded out from the militia and they all jumped into cover behind something-fences, vehicles, buildings.

Franklin stood still, aiming at Trevor. He squeezed the trigger just a second too late; a hand reached out and grabbed Trevor, yanking him back into cover. The bullet just brushed past his arm.

Trevor managed to flash him the bird before Michael pulled him fully back into cover.

Franklin swore and jumped behind a truck. The owner had abandoned it when the first gunshot had gone off, and he was currently running down the street screaming.

Franklin pressed his back against the truck, trying to still his breathing. He had never been a good shot, spraying bullets everywhere and with little to no accuracy. He had to be careful. Michael was definitely a sharp shooter, and would no doubt be looking for one specific head to put a bullet through. Trevor wasn't as good as Michael, but, what he lacked in accuracy, he made up for in guts and crazy risks. Franklin wasn't sure who would be easier to kill. He'd seen how in synch the two of them could be when fighting with each other, rather than against.

He hoped he would be enough to put an end to the both of them. If he didn't...he wasn't sure he wanted to think of the consequences if they got the upper hand.


	8. Chapter 8

And here is chapter 8! I can't promise chapter 9 will be up today, but it will be up soon. Hope you guys are enjoying the story so far! :)

* * *

Michael's back pressed against the back of the garage by the trailer, his legs screaming at him from the half crouched position he was in. He was too damn old for this type of shit. He bit his lip, holding his gun with both of his hands. He made sure it was clutched tight enough so he wouldn't let go- he didn't want a repeat of the tower.

He almost growled; he wasn't going to let that fuck get the upper hand on him again.

Beside him, Trevor ducked out of cover, bullets flying from his shotgun and into the bodies of his targets. He gave a whoop, a sick grin spreading on his face. Michael knew he must've just been _loving_ all the Merryweather killing.

There was only one person Michael was looking forward to killing, and he wasn't part of Merryweather.

Michael ducked around the end of the trailer opposite to Trevor, seeing a few Merryweather trying to creep up on them. They jumped to the sides, trying to get into cover, but Michael was too quick for them. He squared his shoulders and shot, hitting almost all of them, a few in the heads.

Shooting a gun had always been something Michael was talented with, and, frankly, he liked how it felt. He liked the feeling of the recoil of the gun, shooting back into his hands or shoulder. He liked the heavy feel of a deadly weapon, and he especially liked being in control. The feeling was almost relaxing; take a deep breath in, squeeze the trigger, and let the bullet fly into the body that he was aiming for.

He knew he wouldn't have killed them all- he was only using a pistol for god sake- but he'd hit a few of them, and that was better than nothing. Still, the angle of the trailer wasn't a good one.

"I can't get any good shots here!" Michael yelled over to Trevor, who turned and motioned to his truck. Michael hesitated; hiding behind a vehicle wasn't too good of an idea (it could explode if shot at), but he wouldn't be able to get many shots in where he was now.

It was parked in the driveway, which was a relief. They wouldn't have to go too far to be able to get behind it.

Trevor was already gone, running like a madman and then dived into the dirt. His shoulder hit the ground, and the next second he was up and shooting again.

Michael got to the edge of the trailer and was just about to move to behind the truck-but more carefully than Trevor-when Trevor jumped behind the truck and ran into the garage. A bit concerned, Michael crouched down and tried to get behind the truck as quickly as possible. When he got there, he shot at the people coming from behind them, aiming for heads and fatal spots.

"Haha, FUCK yes!" Trevor yelled from inside the garage and came practically strutting out, and what was balanced in his hands and on his shoulder would've made Michael roll his eyes if he hadn't been so hyped up on adrenaline and being focused.

Trevor laughed like the psycho he was and aimed the RPG at where the Merryweather-and most likely Franklin-were mainly coming from. Trevor threw his head back, laughing so hard his body shook.

"How do you like this, Frank?" He yelled in the direction of where Franklin most likely was. "C'mon, kid, pop your head up and see what Uncle T has for ya!"

Franklin didn't look up, not that Michael was surprised. The fuck was staying low, probably knew Michael and Trevor were gunning for him. Michael was disappointed. He wished Franklin would be stupid enough to look up, just for curiosity's sake.

"No?" Trevor yelled, narrowly dodging the bullets that were flying at him. "I guess it'll just be a fucking surprise! Heads up, you _fucking, sniveling, cowardly snake_!"

The missile shot from the RPG with a bang louder than thunder, shooting across. The recoil was enough to push Trevor back a bit, but he remained on his feet, smiling wider as the missile got closer. It flew, black smoke trailing behind it.

Michael had to admit, the look of the missile hitting the trucks and sending Merryweather men and trucks (and hopefully Franklin) exploding towards the sky in a burst of fire and smoke was almost beautiful. Hell, it sure was satisfying.

"Fuckin' A!" Michael grinned, jumping up to get a better view. Bodies littered the ground, some men were dragging themselves and groaning. Blood and fire mixed, making a red concoction that smeared the dusty ground.

Trevor whooped and smiled at Michael. "See that Mikey? Nobody fucks with us!"

"Fucking right they don't!" Both of the men were too caught up in their adrenaline rushed giddiness and, as they moved towards each other to high five, Michael dimly remembered he had forgot to cover them. Trevor with an RPG had distracted him, and he hadn't noticed the men creeping up from behind them.

Trevor's hand had just hit Michael's when a bullet whizzed through the air, flying into Michael's body. It flew in somewhere between his shoulder and chest and lodged itself in.

Michael looked down, feeling almost confused. Had he just been shot? The giddy feeling he'd had only seconds earlier faded and he brought a hand up to where the bullet was. He pulled it back, and his fingers glistened with sticky red blood.

Trevor was already moving, grabbing Michael's pistol from his hand and shooting the people behind them. He was screaming things at them, but Michael couldn't focus. He couldn't focus on anything. Wasn't it day? Why was the sky getting darker? Where had everything else gone? Why was the sky the only thing he was looking at?

As he felt breaths coming quickly through his lungs and his eyelids fluttering and trying to close, he felt his legs out flat and realized he'd fallen.

"Mikey, Mikey, stay with me!" Trevor screamed, practically right in his ear, and Michael felt his body close to him.

"T..." Michael mumbled. "Who...who got me?"

Michael couldn't focus too well on Trevor's face, but, through the blurriness, he could see the brown of Trevor's eyes clearer than anything. It was quite a nice color, Michael thought. Nice to stare into while losing consciousness. A coughing laugh came from him. Hundreds of people had probably stared into the mud brown of Trevor Phillip's eyes as they faded off to who knows where.

He wasn't too tired to not feel fear. Michael wondered if he'd be one of those people. He wondered if Trevor would be the last thing he saw. That wouldn't be too bad. It had been all he'd wanted ten years ago. To die with a gun in his hand and Trevor by his side.


	9. Chapter 9

Here it is! Oh no, Michael's been shot! Time for some Franklin POV! I really hope you guys like this, and I'll hopefully have the next one up soon.

Oh, and to saintgat1999 who asked if this was going to be "one of those Trevor/Michael gay things?" Yes it will be. In my summary, it says "Michael/Trevor in future chapters." (They're totally my OTP)

* * *

When Franklin had seen Trevor duck into the garage, he'd started booking it around to the other side of the trailer. He made his legs move as quickly as possible, his heart hammering inside of his chest. If he could get around quick enough, he could possibly get them. It was a risk and there was a slim chance, but he had to try.

He hid behind a vehicle parked on the side Michael was hiding on, and Franklin made sure to stay hidden as Michael shot. He hid behind some men and dived behind the vehicle, luckily keeping Michael in the dark about Franklin's whereabouts.

When Michael disappeared around the corner, Franklin carefully started creeping forward. He froze in spot when he suddenly heard Trevor yelling.

"How do you like this, Frank? C'mon, kid, pop your head up and see what Uncle T has for ya!"

Franklin couldn't see Trevor, so he must've still thought Franklin was over with all the trucks and most of the Merryweather.

Franklin made sure to stay out of view from Michael so he could get a glimpse at what Trevor had.

It nearly made his heart stop in his chest. Had he fucking jinxed himself earlier? Franklin never really believed in shit like that, but this was a hell of a coincidence.

Trevor's back was to him, but it would've been hard to miss the huge RPG he was holding. Trevor was dodging bullets, and Michael didn't seem to be paying too much attention to covering them anymore. He looked slightly annoyed, but Franklin could see the amusement on his face in the tiny twitch of his lips.

"No? I guess it'll just be a fucking surprise! Heads up, you _fucking, sniveling, cowardly snake_!"

Franklin felt his stomach turn with unease as Trevor's finger ghosted over the trigger and the rocket exploded from the RPG, heading straight towards the men Devin had been generous enough to let Franklin use.

Franklin didn't waste time watching the bloody fireworks going off down the road. He noticed a few Merryweather hidden behind a slight hill and took off towards them, going as fast as his legs would carry him. He dived to the ground, landing hard on his gun and grunting a bit. He yanked it out from under him, positioning it and pointing.

Michael was a clear shot. A smile was on his face, and him and Trevor were moving together to high five. The sight caused Franklin to hesitate, for just a second.

Were these not the men he'd called father figures not too long ago? The men who had been two of his best friends and mentors? And now what were they? Enemies. Two people getting in the way of something he had to do. It almost made Franklin sad to put his finger on the trigger.

He pulled it just as their hands collided.

Trevor didn't waste time in grabbing Michael's gun and shooting. He was roaring like a beast, starting to charge forward. Franklin grabbed the helmet of the nearest Merryweather and stuck it on his head, then stood up and started trying to shoot Trevor.

None of his bullets landed. Trevor was too fast and too angry, though he didn't seem to notice it was Franklin behind the dark glass of the mask. Franklin hoped that the thought of Michael bleeding out on the ground was enough to turn him around.

A bullet whizzed past Franklin, just almost touching his side, and he did the only thing he could think of doing; he fell onto the ground, among the bodies of the Merryweather who had been shot. He held his breath for a second, still hearing the sound of bullets racing from a gun. Soon enough, there was a quiet click and Trevor was out of bullets.

Franklin peaked his head up and saw Trevor kneeling next to Michael, yelling almost hysterically at him and applying pressure to his wound. Michael was almost smiling up at him, a wheezing laugh bubbling up from his mouth.

Neither of them were looking. Franklin shoved himself up, grabbing his gun and pointing it at Trevor. The helmet was heavy on his head, and he ripped it off so he could aim better and maybe, just maybe, he wanted to them to know who had shot them. Franklin's heart pounded in his chest; he was going to do it. After all they'd been through, Franklin was about to kill them.

If he hadn't been feeling uneasy and sick to his stomach about it, he might've considered this good for bragging. Franklin Clinton, the gangster who hadn't done much with himself except for going gang banging with his friend Lamar, would soon be know as Franklin Clinton, the gangster who killed the psychotic but infamous Trevor Phillips and the sociopath and great Michael Townley.

"TREVOR!" A high voice screamed from behind Trevor's trailer, and Franklin froze for a second. His eyes landed on the stupid hat of Ron Jakowski first, then saw Ron's arm waving in the air and pointing straight at him.

Trevor spun around, his eyes wide and his teeth bared. It didn't take long for the realization of who was currently pointing a gun at him to spread on his face, and Franklin knew he had better shoot or he would be dead soon.

"MotherFUCKER!" Trevor screamed at him. Franklin knew of Trevor's distaste for the word-women's rights and respecting mothers, something along those lines-and it made him hurry with his shaking finger.

He pulled the trigger and the bullet went flying for Trevor's head. Instead of dodging to the side like Franklin almost _expected_, Trevor ducked down. Franklin was a bit taken aback by his actions.

Instead of moving to making sure he'd be okay, Trevor had thrown himself over Michael, pressing himself as close to the man on the ground as he could. He made sure his body covered Michael's, leaving no fatal spot available to be hit.

Franklin hadn't seen something like that before. Sure, Trevor had helped him save Lamar and had also helped him out on occasion, but Franklin hadn't seen the psycho actually ever throw himself down to protect someone, almost as if he'd rather be shot than let the wounded Michael become worse.

Before he could pull the trigger again, Ron was scrambling forward over Trevor's fence and yelling, shooting haphazardly at Franklin with his pistol.

Franklin scrambled backwards, shooting at Ron, too. Both were not the best with aiming, and their bullets sprayed everywhere. Trevor roared somewhere behind Ron and Franklin saw him jump up and run into the garage. Before he could get a hit on Michael, Trevor was running out. He jumped over Michael and leaned back so he was still protecting him and started adding into Ron's bullets with his own.

That made Franklin turn and run around fast. Trevor was definitely a better shot than Ron, and an infuriated Trevor was a _dangerous_ Trevor. He seemed to get deadlier the more he become offended.

Franklin hated himself for a second. He was so fucking _weak_, he had let his mind run wild again. It was definitely something he had to work on. But he wasn't a psychopath like Trevor who chased what he wanted and didn't stop till he got it, no matter the consequences. He wasn't a sociopath like Michael; when Franklin killed, he actually thought about it and felt a bit of sadness (though that really depended on the person). Franklin knew that if-when, he reminded himself-he killed them both, he'd always think about it.

One of his best friends (ex best friends) continued to shoot and Franklin listened to the booms that echoed around Sandy Shores. The distant sound of sirens pierced the air and mixed with the sound of a shotgun. Together, it almost helped Franklin to think clearer.

His mind spun. The way he'd taken to getting them-head on, straight and forcefully-wouldn't work, it never would. Trevor and Michael were experienced killers who were used to being outnumbered and knew how to handle themselves.

No, Franklin had to plan his next steps more carefully. He had to tread lightly, sneak up from behind until he would be able to plunge a knife into both of their backs without hesitation.


End file.
